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The Mansion By: Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) |
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By Henry van Dyke There was an air of calm and reserved opulence about the Weightman
mansion that spoke not of money squandered, but of wealth prudently
applied. Standing on a corner of the Avenue no longer fashionable for
residence, it looked upon the swelling tide of business with an
expression of complacency and half disdain. The house was not beautiful. There was nothing in its straight front
of chocolate colored stone, its heavy cornices, its broad, staring
windows of plate glass, its carved and bronze bedecked mahogany doors
at the top of the wide stoop, to charm the eye or fascinate the
imagination. But it was eminently respectable, and in its way
imposing. It seemed to say that the glittering shops of the jewelers,
the milliners, the confectioners, the florists, the picture dealers,
the furriers, the makers of rare and costly antiquities, retail traders
in luxuries of life, were beneath the notice of a house that had its
foundations in the high finance, and was built literally and
figuratively in the shadow of St. Petronius' Church. At the same time there was something self pleased and congratulatory in
the way in which the mansion held its own amid the changing
neighborhood. It almost seemed to be lifted up a little, among the
tall buildings near at hand, as if it felt the rising value of the land
on which it stood. John Weightman was like the house into which he had built himself
thirty years ago, and in which his ideals and ambitions were incrusted.
He was a self made man. But in making himself he had chosen a highly
esteemed pattern and worked according to the approved rules. There was
nothing irregular, questionable, flamboyant about him. He was solid, correct, and justly successful. His minor tastes, of course, had been carefully kept up to date. At the proper time, pictures of the Barbizon masters, old English plate
and portraits, bronzes by Barye and marbles by Rodin, Persian carpets
and Chinese porcelains, had been introduced to the mansion. It
contained a Louis Quinze reception room, an Empire drawing room, a
Jacobean dining room, and various apartments dimly reminiscent of the
styles of furniture affected by deceased monarchs. That the hallways
were too short for the historic perspective did not make much
difference. American decorative art is capable de tout, it absorbs all
periods. Of each period Mr. Weightman wished to have something of the
best. He understood its value, present as a certificate, and
prospective as an investment. It was only in the architecture of his town house that he remained
conservative, immovable, one might almost say
Early Victorian Christian. His country house at Dulwich on the Sound
was a palace of the Italian Renaissance. But in town he adhered to an
architecture which had moral associations, the
Nineteenth Century Brownstone epoch. It was a symbol of his social
position, his religious doctrine, and even, in a way, of his business
creed. "A man of fixed principles," he would say, "should express them in the
looks of his house. New York changes its domestic architecture too
rapidly. It is like divorce. It is not dignified. I don't like it.
Extravagance and fickleness are advertised in most of these new houses.
I wish to be known for different qualities. Dignity and prudence are
the things that people trust. Every one knows that I can afford to
live in the house that suits me. It is a guarantee to the public. It
inspires confidence. It helps my influence. There is a text in the
Bible about 'a house that hath foundations.' That is the proper kind of
a mansion for a solid man." Harold Weightman had often listened to his father discoursing in this
fashion on the fundamental principles of life, and always with a
divided mind. He admired immensely his father's talents and the
single minded energy with which he improved them. But in the paternal
philosophy there was something that disquieted and oppressed the young
man, and made him gasp inwardly for fresh air and free action... Continue reading book >>
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